


From the Memoirs of Timoteo

by AKnightOfAGoodKing



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Diary/Journal, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:54:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28257240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKnightOfAGoodKing/pseuds/AKnightOfAGoodKing
Summary: Three entries from Timoteo over the years[DO NOT REPOST/REUSE  MY WORK(S) WITHOUT MY ACKNOWLEDGEMENT AND PERMISSION]
Kudos: 1





	From the Memoirs of Timoteo

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the original entries I created for my application for [Drawing Days, the Katekyo Hitman Reborn scrapbook Fanzine](https://khrfanzine.carrd.co/). I was accepted. ^^

> _Roma, Italia, 1 September, 1987_

It is only ten past eleven, and I have already buried Fedrico. What I would do to know his last moments, his last words, but all I had left were his bones. Not all of them, just his skull and his arms. The rest, we couldn’t find no matter how hard we tried. Maybe they are at the bottom of the sea by now. Maybe they are lying in the gutters, chipped away by rats and rot. There was only enough of my son to place in a small box, and now that it's gone, buried in a grave next to his brothers who had gone before. Had gone before me. I still have my famiglia and my Guardians, but it feels as if I have lost another limb. I am fumbling in the dark, and there is no light at the end of the tunnel. I have lost my mother and wife years ago, and now, I have no sons left to show of their love and blood. I have no heirs, and I am too old to marry in hopes of continuing on my line. My house is no longer as strong, and the wolves will come down from the mountains to hunt me, hound me and wear me down. I won’t let them, I _cannot_ let them. I have my pride and my famiglia’s honor to uphold, to take care of my people and all the citizens in Italia. Until the day I die, I will go on as the head of Vongola, the Ninth, but right now, I am an old man mourning for his child once again. 

> _Namimori, Japan, 12 November, 1990_

Not many people, even within the famiglia, know that Vongola Secondo was only the cousin of Vongola Primo. When Giotto retired from his position as the head, he moved to the island country of Japan, and there, he had a family of his own, the Sawadas. The true line of succession lies with them, and they hold the other half of Vongola’s true power. They have always had every right to challenge for succession, but they never had, not even now. The Sawada men were, and still are, content with their roles in the shadows, watching over Vongola so that its name is not smeared. They are the ears in the walls and eyes under the floorboards, but it may be time that Giotto’s line finally returns to Italia and reinstalls itself as the head of Vongola. Iemitsu won’t, he can’t. But his newborn son, Tsunayoshi, can. I met him today. He is small, just under a month old, and he is Vongola’s last hope. I pray that I will live long enough to see him succeed. 

> _Firenze, Italia, 15 October, 1994_

I have a son. His name is Xanxus. He is a strong boy, and his eyes hold fury. He is like an animal who grew up cornered, as life is for the poor and the desperate. There is only so much I can do with my own power and influence, but peace and prosperity are not mine to grant everyone. I am not God, and I don’t question His plans. I can simply prepare for what He wills, though not even I expected for a woman, Alessa, to come up to me and tell me about the son I did not know I had. Her proof was the Flames her son wielded, _orange_ like the sky, a true heir of power. But they were not Flames of Vongola, I already knew that. I loved no other woman but my wife, and there is no other descendant of Secondo left but I. This boy and I are no more than strangers, yet in his Flames, there is familiarity. An aging man and an angry boy driven by loneliness. Xanxus is not my son, but I will love him as if he was. 


End file.
